


Fast Food and Fine Dining

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Double Penetration, Idiots, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no losers in this competition, only winners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast Food and Fine Dining

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gave me a lot of frustration for various reasons, but I finished it, it’s done, take it TAKE IT.
> 
> Based loosely on a comment made by adhesivesandscrap on tumblr. Keyword: loosely. 
> 
> Posting it here because why the fuck not.

It started two days ago.

Quark had been in the lab, cleaning up before retiring for the night. Brainstorm and Perceptor both left shortly ago. There wasn’t much to clean, fortunately, taking him only fifteen minutes. But as soon as Quark shut off the lights and went to step outside, Brainstorm suddenly appeared out of nowhere (really, he’d just been hiding in the damn closet the entire time) and slammed the closed button on the door.

Their optics and biolights glowed faintly in the dark room. Quark went to say something, but was shoved back, pinned against the door. Before he could even form a word, Brainstorm was on his knees between the microscope’s legs, pawing open his panel, and almost plunging his tongue inside Quark’s channel.

Quark gasped, grabbing Brainstorm tightly by the shoulders. His head was spinning, too shocked by the sudden onslaught of pleasure to say anything. Instead, he moaned, melting into Brainstorm’s hands around his waist. Not long after, his legs gave out, and he slid down, grinding his open channel against Brainstorm’s face.

It was an unexpected, but wonderful surprise.

When Quark overloaded, Brainstorm stood up, beaming. Quark went slack in his arms, resting against his chest, venting hard. Neither scientist said a word, but once stable enough, Quark switched on the lights, wiped himself clean with a rag, and hobbled back to his quarters, mind still a scattered mess.

Yesterday, it happened again.

Quark was returning from Swerve’s bar, still finishing up his drink. He’d gotten to his floor, heading down the empty corridor to his room. Just as he passed his neighbor’s door, it flew open and Skids rolled out, hitting the far wall. Quark jumped, nearly dropping his glass. He went to ask if Skids was all right, but the blue Autobot flipped up onto his feet, grabbed Quark, and held him against the wall.

“What–”

Skids threw one of Quark’s legs over his shoulder as he knelt, pushing aside the microscope’s panels. He thrust his face forward, and Quark gasped, actually dropping his glass on the floor, spilling mid-grade.

It’d been another mind-blowing experience. Quark slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to stay as quiet as possible; who knew if anyone would suddenly pop out. When he overloaded, he nearly screamed. Skids caught him before he could collapse, helped him into his quarters, laid him on the berth, then… left.

Quark stared at the ceiling, optics wide and glasses crooked.

“A competition!?”

Quark nearly threw down his datapad, rising angrily from his desk. He marched over to Skids and Brainstorm, both smiling proudly. “What the Hell!? A comp–are you serious!?” he snarled.

“Yes,” Skids replied, “we figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“We gave you a day to calculate the results,” Brainstorm explained, “so now we want to know–who gives better oral? Me or Skids?” Brainstorm held a hand to the side of his face to hide it from Skids, mouthing the word “me” while covertly pointing at himself.

“Really!? You’re both so… ridiculous!” Quark stamped a foot. He was furious, optics blazing and cheekplates hot. “Of all the ego-stroking games to play–”

“Well, to be honest,” Skids interrupted, scratching his chin, “if anyone got stroked, it was you.”

Quark barked, “That’s not the point!” He shook his clutched fists, like a child about to throw a tantrum. “Why do you care so much, anyway? What does it prove? What does it _im_ prove?”

Skids and Brainstorm exchanged baffled looks. They both shrugged.

“We’re just curious.”

“We made sure all the outside variables were perfect, while also presenting a challenge to really make us focus,” Brainstorm stated, Skids nodding matter-of-factly.

“No,” Quark scowled, “I’m not playing this game.”

“Come oooon,” Brainstorm whined, “we worked really haaaard, Quaaaark! Me especiallyyyy!”

“Well, too bad,” Quark huffed, arms sternly akimbo, “you were both good, and your techniques were both sufficient. They got the job done. There. That’s that.” He brushed off his hands. “Case closed, experiment over.”

Skids frowned. “We figured this might happen, actually,” he said.

“So we devised two alternative options to make you reconsider,” Brainstorm continued.

“First, we both wrote a one-thousand worded thesis on why you should pick us as the winner.”

Quark cocked a browplate. He was actually mildly interested in reading those. Because _really_. “Oh?” he snorted cynically. “And what was your second idea?”

“Third, technically.”

“We call it a truce,” Brainstorm stated, “with one final, no-bars held double-whammy.”

Quark blinked five times in rapid succession. “A double-wha?”

“Double-whammy,” Skids said, “it means we agree to call it even, and to celebrate, you let us take you at the same time.”

Quark’s optics nearly short-circuited. “So, you… want to… double penetrate me then?” he coughed.

“Whammy!” Brainstorm beamed.

Quark stared at the two mechs for nearly a full minute. Skids started rocking back and forth on his feet, but they remained otherwise quiet. Finally, Quark threw up his hands with a loud sigh. “Fine,” he scowled, “fine!”

“You won’t regret this!” Skids insisted.

“You better make sure one very important part of me does not,” Quark huffed, adjusting his glasses.

“I’ve calculated the best possible position for all three of us,” Brainstorm explained.

Quark glared. “Of course you did.”

“And that would be standing,” Brainstorm finished. “Not necessarily ideal, but I’m sure once we get started, we’ll be focusing on more important things.”

Skids took Quark’s hands, bowing down until they were face to face. “Remember,” he said calmly, “you don’t have to do this.”

“He knows that,” Brainstorm added.

Quark did look hesitant for a moment. “… Well,” he said, “if it’s a one time thing, I don’t mind.”

Skids smiled. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt… too much.” His words weren’t very comforting, so he just pet Quark on top of his head.

“It’ll be fine,” Brainstorm snorted, “I know what I’m doing.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

“Anyway!” Brainstorm invented sharply, hands on his hips. “Toss for who gets front, who gets back?” he asked Skids.

Quark groaned. Before Skids could possibly agree, he raised a hand and stepped forward. “Enough with the gambling and games,” he said. “Skids can… work from behind. Brainstorm you can… take the front.” His optics turned a bright blue, and Quark couldn’t believe what he’d just said. He wasn’t necessarily a prude, but the circumstances made this entire situation a little difficult to take completely seriously.

Brainstorm gave two thumbs up.

“Works for me,” Skids agreed.

In awkward silence, Quark moved clumsily over to Brainstorm. A moment later, Skids was standing right behind him, closing the microscope between the two slightly taller mechs. He invented, fingers nervously clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“So…”

“Shh,” Brainstorm whispered, lowering Quark’s glasses. He grinned. “Just switch off your optics, and enjoy the ride.”

Quark twitched. But at least he knew the two knew what they were doing. They’d just… never done it like this before. Nonetheless, Quark exvented, relaxing; his shoulders went slack, and he closed his optics. For only a second; he wanted to see what these chuckleheads had planned.

Skids slid a hand between Quark’s legs, gently rubbing his panel. Quark stiffened a moment, relaxed again. When Skids removed his hand, Quark retracted his paneling. “Let me… let me make a few adjustments for myself,” he insisted, pushing back Brainstorm’s eager hands.

It took less than a minute. With a few mental commands and overrides, thinner underlying dermis plating parted, folding and sliding out of view, allowing more access to his channel. It would make stretching a little easier as well. “All right,” Quark said, steadying himself, “you may… begin.”

And just like that, two hands were suddenly fondling between his legs.

Skids stroked along the folds of his channel, massaging outer plating. Brainstorm went a little deeper, pressing the edges of two fingers inside–just a little, watching Quark carefully. Quark choked and stumbled, clutching onto Brainstorm’s arms; but once he settled, Brainstorm pushed his digits in a little deeper, toward the knuckles. Skids scissored his fingers around Brainstorm’s, up and down the folds, pausing to nudge and press against the ceiling node.

Quark whimpered. He was immediately wet, lubricant coating his channel walls. Brainstorm’s fingers were quickly wet; actuators relaxing, he pushed a third finger in. The walls fluttered before accepting all three. He started moving his fingers in deep, slow thrusts, just barely grazing over sensor nodes.

As the amount of lubricant increased, seeping around their hands and cutting down his thighs, Skids inserted one of his own fingers toward the back. Quark hadn’t noticed, not at first, until the finger pushed deeper inside. He gasped, and Skids quickly withdrew his digit.

“N-No,” Quark croaked, “keep go-going.”

Skids swallowed, a little nervous himself. His finger rejoined Brainstorm’s, moving in tandem with his thrusts. Soon enough, he managed to slide a second finger inside; the channel was wide enough to accommodate. No painful stretching–not yet, at least. But the two tugged and scissored, sometimes gently, sometimes a little rough. They focused, knowing if Quark wasn’t properly prepared, what happened next would end really, really fast.

Quark felt weak and boneless in their arms. His cheekplates burned as he imagined the five fingers inside of him. He nearly hiccuped when he remembered what would soon be replacing them. Nonetheless, Skids and Brainstorm made sure to keep him properly on edge; enough to stimulate without risking a premature overload. It was quite frustrating, actually, as if he were being cruelly teased, but Quark didn’t complain.

“It’s a good thing I’m not using my tongue,” Brainstorm snickered, “or you’d be too tired for the next round by the time I was done with you.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d have you beat.”

“Really? Did they call you Thunder Tongue in the Academy, too?”

“S-Stop,” Quark growled. “Your p-petty whining… ruining the m-mood…”

“You’re ruining the mood, Brainstorm.”

“Hey!”

Finally, after what was probably an eternity and a half, Brainstorm and Skids removed their fingers. Quark huffed, his walls twitching, suddenly empty. They clenched down for something, anything, his nodes engorged with arousal.

“How do things look?” Brainstorm asked.

Skids got down on his knees, poking his head between Quark’s legs and looking up into his channel. Quark scowled, pushing him back. “Perfectly dilated,” Skids smirked, “why, we could probably fit a–”

“No!” Quark squawked.

Brainstorm nodded. “Okeydokey–-up you go!” He abruptly scooped Quark up in his arms, taking him by the legs. Quark clung to his frame, arms wrapped around his neck. His legs hooked around Brainstorm’s thighs, and he was quickly adjusted so his channel was still free and exposed. Quark looked down just as the flier’s unit protracted, its edge just barely scraping along his folds.

Skids closed the space between the three, until they were nearly perfectly sandwiched together. His own unit was pressurized, and he pressed it just at the back end of Quark’s channel.

Quark shivered.

“Ready?” Skids asked, fingers closing around Quark’s thin hips.

Brainstorm glanced down at Quark.

Quark invented, licking his lips. “Ready,” he said.

Brainstorm looked up to Skids, nodded. Skids nodded back.

Brainstorm pressed inside first, easily sliding half his unit inside the wet, open channel. Quark chewed his bottom lip, but so far, so good. Brainstorm held him tight as he started thrusting, hips snapping forward. Just like preparations, each push inside was shallow and slow, making sure Quark remained stabilized.

And it started feeling like a regular interface, one Quark had experienced time and time before. With his body now comfortable, Skids made his move. Quark went rock-hard when he felt the tip of Skids’s unit push into the back of his channel. He nearly forgot what was happening for a moment. Skids took a second for himself and then–optics trained on Quark–pressed himself inside.

The reaction was both instantaneous and nearly explosive. There was nothing subtle about it. The two units inside Quark, spreading him as wide as he could go. Skids and Brainstorm adjusting to the tightness, the feeling of their own units grinding against one another inside the smaller mech. But they were determined to continue; Brainstorm went ahead, and Skids quickly caught on, unit matching thrusts with the flier’s, undersides rubbing back and forth.

Quark suddenly felt dizzy. His HUD pinged, warning him of the increase spikes in his sensor field. Every node, ever receptor on his body was affected, lit up and reacting. They’d only started pumping together inside of him, just one minute, maybe two, and he already felt overstimulated and lost completely in the sensation. His dimmed optics rolled back, wet with coolant, mouth slightly agape and panting. His head lolled forward, resting against Brainstorm’s chest, but his fingers were digging into his throat cables.

“D-Don’t strangle me,” Brainstorm croaked.

Neither Brainstorm or Skids were quick to feel the same overpowering sensations as their partner. His channel was still a bit too tight, clenching down on their units. As painful as it was, they had to keep moving, keep spreading him. Though it wasn’t without its pros–though weird and a little awkward, their grinding units stroking one another inside Quark did feel quite good.

“Oh, Primus, oh, Primus,” Quark chanted weakly in between heavy whimpers. He sunk against Brainstorm, his hands loosening around the cables.

“I-I think we’re d-doing it,” Skids tittered.

Quark closed his optics, groaning. He sat back, immediately resting against Skids’s torso. “Yes,” he vented, reaching out a shaky hand and grabbing Brainstorm’s shoulder, “nn, yes, yes!”

“Y-Yes,” Brainstorm moaned, increasing speed.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit Skids and Brainstorm all at once.

Skids staggered, nearly pulling out; he pushed back in, and Quark squirmed. “F-Frag,” Skids gasped, burying his face into Quark’s shoulder.

“Y-Yeah,” Brainstorm said, detached, completely consumed by the intense sensations.

Every node in Quark’s channel was hit twice over. Skids and Brainstorm broke off pattern, moving at different speeds; up down, down up, gliding smoothly against one another. Their speed picked up, and Quark shrieked, arching in their hands. He bounced along, nearly whipping his head back, keeping up as best as he possibly could. He could hear the obscene, wet noises of the two units pummeling his channel, striking nodes deep inside of him.

“P-Primus!” Quark cried, leaning against Brainstorm. “O-Overload, mm'gonna–”

“G-Go ‘head,” Skids groaned.

Quark overloaded before Skids could even finish giving permission. He squeezed around the units, stopping the two entirely. His body was rocked with spasms; the overload was powerful enough to nearly knock him offline, succeeding in shutting down a few minor programs and powering his vision to fifty percent. Even when his climax was over, the aftershocks continued; every plate on his body trembled, hot and sensitive to the touch.

But Skids and Brainstorm still had to get off.

Quark felt nothing but pure, raw pleasure. It was… amazing. He was close to tears. He could barely move, turned into a ragdoll in their arms as they resumed thrusting. He occasionally jerked and whimpered, but allowed himself to be manipulated. Quark was vaguely aware of the coolant dribbling down his chin, but he didn’t care. Nothing but this moment mattered right now in his clouded CPU.

Skids overloaded a few minutes later, then Brainstorm. It hadn’t been enough to knock them into the same state as Quark, but they’d certainly been unique overloads. And powerful ones at that.

Brainstorm pulled out first, Quark mewling; Skids slid out easily, and then all three of them were on the ground, venting and releasing steam from their overheated chassis.

“H-Holy…” Brainstorm buried his face in his hands.

Skids grinned lopsidedly, looking drunk. “Eyeeeeah…”

Quark touched his abdomen. A small bump as transfluid emptied his channel, spilling out on the floor. “Next time,” he invented, “you want t-to plan a competition… Don’t do it overcharged. In public. W-Where anyone can hear you.”

Brainstorm and Skids looked to Quark, confused and half out of it.

Then they remembered. They had decided on the terms of their competition at Swerve’s bar while completely wasted. Neither, however, seemed to have noticed Quark sitting farther down the bar, blending with the shadows and listening with an unimpressed glower on his face.

“W-Wait… Then you… knew…?” Brainstorm wheezed.

“All along?”

Quark snorted. He rolled over, spooning Skids’s side. Brainstorm flopped and wriggled over like a fish out of water, joining them. “Who do you think r-recommended the alternative options? Should y-your judge refuse to vote?” he said.

“Swerve?” Skids mumbled. “No… wait.” Swerve did throw in some ideas in the beginning, but Skids remembered him suddenly excusing himself for a few minutes then returning, grinning wide, and quickly suggesting what would be called the “double whammy.”

“Oh, Primus,” Skids groaned.

Brainstorm grinned. “Y-You sly spawn of a g-glitch.”

“You–you actually told him t-to tell us t-that? Y-You weren’t embarrassed?”

Quark shrugged tiredly. "Mm,” he said. He closed his optics and relaxed. “I might’ve been a little overcharged, too.”


End file.
